


book of life

by everlarklane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anniversary, Boggarts, Contest Entry, Drabble Collection, Gay Bar, Headaches & Migraines, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Karaoke, M/M, Out of Order, Romance, Weasley Wool Sweaters (tm), Weasley sweaters, Whump, by 400 words i mean they had to be under that, first five were for a contest, karaoke bar, poor sirius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlarklane/pseuds/everlarklane
Summary: Harry wasn't sure how he'd found himself at the bar in the first place, let alone outside in the snow.





	1. All Time Low

Harry wasn’t sure how he’d found himself at the bar in the first place, let alone outside in the snow.

He buried his head further into his knees, fingers stiff and tingling with the cold. Too much- everything was too much. 

Almost leaping out of his skin when a gentle hand touched his shoulder, he felt a burst of warmth soar through his skin. 

“Harry?” a voice whispered, tightening their grip almost imperceptibly around his shoulder. “Is that you?”

Harry peered up blearily through his smudged glasses to see a blond smear. “Neville?”

A sigh cut through the icy air as Neville crouched beside him in the snow. A soft mitten brushed his forehead gently as the other man slipped an arm under his own. Together, they rose unsteadily to their feet with a creaking and crackling of snow beneath them.

Neville half carried, half dragged Harry over to the nearest bench, a little chipped blue thing inside a covered bus stop. Neville began to rub Harry’s stiff hands.

“What happened?” he asked softly. 

“Broke up with ‘inny,” Harry slurred. “No one talk. Was dumb.”

“Why did you break up with her?” Neville asked, his hands stilling on top of Harry’s for a moment. 

“I couldn’t- couldn’t,” he shuddered, pressing his head against Neville’s shoulder. The alcohol burned inside him, but the rest of him felt so cold...except for Neville’s hands on his. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I couldn’t. Please….Ginny….”

“Ginny’s not here,” Neville said. “How much did you drink, Harry?”

“Dunno.”

“Want me to take you to my apartment? Make sure you dry out okay?”

“Don’ care.”

Casting a Notice-Me-Not charm on the area, Neville hauled Harry onto his shoulder and Disapparated. 

Neville set Harry down on his couch and sat beside him. “You had to have been sitting in the snow for ages, Harry…”

“Don’ matter,” Harry muttered. “Sirius and Remus and Mum and Dad all dead and Gin’ don’ want me and Ron angry.”

“Well, I care,’ Neville said, cheeks reddening with something other than the fireplace. “Okay? I care about you, Harry Potter.”

Sloppy, alcohol-laden lips suddenly smacked the side of Neville’s face before Harry flopped back down, curling under the blankets. 

“Care ‘bout you too.”

Heat rushed through Neville’s cheeks as he wrapped a blanket around Harry’s shaking shoulders and retreated to a chair. “Night, Harry.”

“Night, Nev.” 


	2. Homeward Bound

The first time Neville received a Weasley Wool Sweater, he almost burst into tears. 

Harry was irrevocably interwoven with the Weasley clan. What neither of them had realized at the time was just how deep the bond went.

Harry and Neville had married nearly half a year before that burning summer eve, a quiet, small event that disappointed the reporters. Each wore a simple steel band on their fingers despite both their relative wealth. They preferred things that way, the Slayer of Nagini and Destroyer of Voldemort.

However, this story starts five months later, with mosquitoes nipping at tiny redheaded ankles as their parents chased them around the Burrow in vain attempts to bring them to the table. Neville and Harry sat near each other as Molly, nearing her sixties, but still as headstrong and powerful placed the last of the presents in front of the wondrous birthday cake she’d made. 

Neville gently rolled the ring on Harry’s finger as a chunk of the Weasley herd was finally corralled into chairs. 

“Who’s present are ya gonna open first, Uncle Nev?” Rose asked cheerfully, bouncing in her seat. 

“Molly and Arthur’s, I believe,” Neville said, flashing a smile at their hosts. He pulled the present toward him and began to carefully peel apart the paper. Like Harry, he was careful with the wrappings. 

The first brown stitch made his heart stutter.

“Is this…” he breathed, barely stopping himself from ripping open the rest of the packaging. 

Soon, he pulled it out- a brown, woolen sweater with a golden ‘N’ emblazoned in the front. 

His own Weasley Wool Sweater.

Chest stuttering, he held the sweater to himself, head bowed over it as the corners of his eyes burned. Harry’s hand tightened in his own as he took steady breaths.

“Molly, I-” Neville tried, voice cracking. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You are part of the family, Neville,” Molly said, smiling into both of her boys’ watery eyes. “I’ve wanted to make you one since you started dating our Harry here, but...I waited until it was official.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, leaning his head against Neville’s shoulder. Neville reached down to give him a chaste peck, ignoring the typical cries of  _ ‘gross’  _ from the younger crowd. 

“Well, gushy stuff over. Cake time!” Ron said, clapping his hands together even as Hermione snapped his name. The Weasleys- Neville and Harry included- burst into laughter. 


	3. Anniversary

“You’re a dork. A complete, utter, ridiculous-”

“But I’m your dork?”

“Yes.”

The quiet sound of hand against fabric rustled through the dark evening air as Harry and Neville gently swayed in the park. Harry’s head laid against Neville’s broad shoulder as the taller man’s thumb circled the small of his back.

“The flowers were beautiful,” Harry whispered into Neville’s collarbone. “All my favorites.”

Neville shrugged, dropping a kiss onto Harry’s wild curls. “Of course. Only the best bouquet for our first anniversary.” 

They half swayed, half danced through the darkness that night, words passed in light whispers and twitches of fingers.

Maybe it wasn’t a five star meal, with jewelry and candles. 

But standing in the middle of the starlit park, with nothing but each other and the dim candlelight of the moon, Harry couldn’t help but think it was better than any traditional anniversary could be.

That being said, he leaned in to give his husband and love of his life a kiss. 


	4. A Hand Up

Their boggarts were different.

As Harry trembled, knees still connected to the floor the way they were when the boggart first burst, unexpectedly, from the closet, he watched as the boggart turned its attentions to Neville, who flinched away from the specter. 

“Neville Longbottom,” Amycus Carrow drawled. Neville flinched, eyes locked on the bloody knife and wand in his hands. “Your punishment is long overdue.”

“Y-you think so?” Neville said, drawing his shoulders up. “Same for you. Riddikulus!” 

The boggart stumbled, focusing back on Harry. Amycus rapidly melted away to kneel before him.

Harry looked at himself.

“Harry…” the boggart whispered, brushing aside the identical strands of black hair to reveal fevered red eyes. “You could be great...if you can just be like me.”

“Never,” Harry whispered, his throat tightening like a vice. “I’ll never be like you.”

“Ah, but you already are,” the boggart said. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”

Neville pushed in front of Harry, managing to transform the dementor once more into a strange combination of Amycus and Evil-Harry.

Surprised at the strange appearance, Harry let out a tiny anxious giggle. It flinched.

“Together?” Neville said, holding out a hand for Harry.

He stood, nodding. “Together.”

“Riddikulus!”

Laughter broke into the room like sunshine.


	5. Confidence

Harry James Potter cannot sing.

This was something he asserted to anyone and everyone who asked. No, he’d say. Of course I can’t. I sound like a dying walrus (or Dudley being sat on- same difference, really). 

So when Neville Longbottom dragged him to a karaoke bar for one of their dates, he was absolutely certain his sorta-almost-definitely boyfriend had lost more than a few knuts. 

It’ll be fun, he’d said. Let loose a bit, he’d added.

Sure, let loose the eardrums from everyone’s heads, Harry’d thought. 

Turned out, Neville had a pretty good voice. Apparently he’d sung in choir as a kid. Harry had fun just watching his sorta-almost boyfriend sing his heart out as they swung back Roy Rogers and eventually Neville’s favorite drink, old fashioneds. 

Maybe that hadn’t been the greatest idea in hindsight for Mister I-Don’t-Sing. Because buzzed, cuddly, and with lowered inhibitions, he hadn’t been able to stand up to his boyfriend’s sad puppy eyes when he refused to sing karaoke. 

So, somehow he’d found himself in front of microphone with words about to start scrawling across the screen. 

Neville smiled at him.

Harry opened his mouth and sang. 

When he’d finished, heat burning his his cheeks and chest, Neville drew him into a deep kiss, bar goers around them hooting, with a few playful ‘get a room!’s tossed in for good measure. 

“So I did okay?” Harry asked, breathless.

Neville grinned, pushing a new drink into his hand. “More than okay.”

That got him another kiss. 

The karaoke bar burst into cheers once more. 

 


End file.
